


Drifting

by IWantYouInMyLife



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cock Warming, Kneeling, M/M, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWantYouInMyLife/pseuds/IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: Harry needs it.Needs to let go of the responsibilities weighing down on his shoulders and decompress, and the only way to completely shut down his overworked mind is to get down on his knees and focus on nothing but Ron's cock for a few hours.





	Drifting

The timing is perfect.

Ron has just settled to study — body dropped onto the couch and numerous books, files and loose papers surrounding him from all sides; spread over the arm of the sofa, the center-table, and even the plushy carpet they had installed in the living room a few months ago. 

Seeing this, Harry all but leaps over the last few steps of the stairwell and makes his way to his best friend, stepping over the items in his way when he comes close enough. 

He stops in front of Ron and kneels in between his spread out legs, tapping his leg twice. "Can I?" Harry asks in a soft voice, cautious not to distract Ron more than necessary. 

"Hm. What?" Ron blinks, his eyes sliding from the book he's holding in his hands down to Harry's face. It's easy to see the exact moment Ron understands his request.

It's a familiar request, something he's done a million times before, and by then, they both know each other's signs almost better than they know their own. So it's no wonder that Ron gets it straight away, that his expression barely shifts, or that no flicker of surprise crosses his eyes as he looks down to meet Harry's eyes. 

"Oh, yeah, sure. Knock yourself out, mate. I'm not gonna be good for anything for a while." Ron gestures to all the shit around him. "I need to sort all this out for tomorrow." 

Harry smiles back, taking off his glasses and placing them on the carpet by his foot. "Kingsley is busting your ass, hun?" He jokes lightly. 

"Tell me about it." 

"All I can do is wish you good luck, mate," Harry says. His hands move to Ron's jeans to unbutton it and drag the zipper down. "I'm done for today, so if you decide to grab a bite later, just give me a shake, 'kay?"

"'Kay," Ron murmurs in agreement, eyes already drifting back to the tome in his hands. It's clear that his attention is no longer on Harry, but back on whatever reading he's actually doing, and Harry finds that he's quite okay with that. Silence works just fine for him. 

Doing his best not to disrupt him, Harry slides his hand into Ron's jeans and fishes out his soft prick, careful to fold the fabric with his other hand, so that the sensitive skin won't touch the cold zipper. Then, in a smooth, practiced move, Harry leans forward, rests his cheek on Ron's muscular thigh, wraps his lips around the head of his prick and begins to suckle — a slow, soothing motion. 

It's like a drug. A Pavlovian response. An addiction. Instantly, Harry's eyes flutter shut, and his pulse begins to slow down. There no rush, no thrill to be chased, no performance to be done; there's just Ron, mumbling words under his breath as he studies a new case, and the nervous energy flowing off of Harry's body as his mind focuses on the task on hand. 

Harry breathes deeply through his nose, the feeling running through him so strong it takes a minute to get used to it, to settle down and get rid of all the crap flowing around his mind. 

The minutes ebb away, slow and steady. Harry is nearly drifting off into a peaceful sleep when Ron shifts in his place to stretch his leg, and all but shoves his cock all the way down Harry's throat, starling him enough that his eyes pop open and he starts to gag on reflex. 

" _Shit_! Hey, hey," Ron calls in an apologetic voice, sinking his fingers deep into Harry's hair and grabbing hold of the locks, not to pull him away or push him further down, but simply to reassure Harry of his presence, to calm him down. "I'm sorry; I got too distracted. Are you okay?" 

Harry glances up, sees his best friend concerned look, and hums to signal that he's alright. Now that he's settled back into place, with Ron's heavy hand steadying him, keeping him grounded, everything goes back in order, and the last thing Harry wants is to move an inch. 

Thankfully, Ron has learned his cues by now and understands the noise for what it truly represents. Just like that, the frown fades from his face, and a fond smile takes its place. Ron gives his hair a small tug. "Comfortable there, Potter?" 

Harry can do little else but to moan around Ron's cock in response. 

The red-haired groans at the feeling. "Ahh, Harry. Settle down," he says, his voice almost sounding reproaching, and Harry instantly goes still. He steals a glance after a pause to check, but Ron is already engrossed in whatever he's reading, so Harry takes that as his cue to get back to it.

It's so easy. Effortlessly, for both of them. To the point where it's almost difficult to try to remember how they started it, how they came to where they are, how the pieces slotted into place so seamlessly when Harry is known for his patent lack of luck. Although, it was probably the lack of luck that got them there, in the first place. 

Overall, the problem is that Harry overthinks — tries too much to fix everybody's problems while neglecting to do the same for himself, and Ron knows that. Knows how lost inside his brain Harry can get, and knows how to make it better. Harry needs it. Needs to let go of the responsibilities weighing down on his shoulders and decompress, and the only way to completely shut down his overworked mind is to get down on his knees and focus on nothing but Ron's cock for a few hours. 

He gets so lost in the sensations, that sometimes Harry sleeps just like this, in between those powerful legs and with his mouth around Ron's cock. 

Perhaps it ought to weird them out how often they end up on that same position, but it doesn't, and Harry's tired of making his life more complicated than it has to be, so he learns to accept it and move on. 

Maybe one day it will bother them; however, that day is not today, so he lets it be a future-Harry's problem. 

For now, he finally drifts off into a peaceful sleep. 

.  
.  
.  
.

When Harry wakes up, the room seems noticeably darker, and he knows his nap took at least a couple hours. He blinks and notices the way he's still resting his face on Ron's jeans, but feels a distinct lack of his prick inside his mouth. It takes a full minute for him to realize that it's slipped from his lips as he slept. 

Suddenly, Harry hears a low, soft whimper echo around the room. It's close to what Harry imagines a wounded pup sounds like when they are lost in the wilderness, alone and needy. 

A hand grips the hair at his nape and use the leverage to tilt Harry's head up. "You're the one who fell asleep, mate," Ron explains as their eyes meet, an amused look on his face, and suddenly Harry realizes that the noise is coming from him. "Seemed rude to just shove it back as you drooled away." 

Harry pouts. "I don't drool." 

"Sure, you don't. And I don't snore — _that's_ the hill we're dying on," Ron agrees with a chuckle. He looks tired, with bags forming under his eyes and a hunch to his shoulders that tells Harry all he needs to know about the files in his best friend's other hand. 

He mentions to it with his chin, tilting his head as much as possible with the firm grip Ron still had on his hair. "You finished with that?" Harry asks, although he already knows that answer to his question. It's more of a hint, really. There's a question hidden in there that Ron will not miss. 

And he doesn't. That's the amazing thing about Ron; he always knows what Harry's saying, even when he's not really speaking the words. 

Giving him a knowing look, Ron releases Harry's hair, moving to run his fingers through his own locks. "Not even close," he sighs, shaking his head. "This is gonna take a while, actually. You sure you want to stay?" 

"Why not?" Harry teases, playfully bumping his shoulder against Ron's knee. "I just took a nap; I'll be fine." 

"Thank Goodness," he mutters, not even trying to hide how pleased he is with Harry's choice. "Merlin, I need this or I might not get through this case." 

Harry feels the familiar shiver of satisfaction that always went up his spine whenever Ron admits to feeling as good about this as Harry does. In response, he simply opens his mouth and waits for it. 

Taking the hint, Ron eases his soft cock into his mouth again, guiding Harry to sink all the way down, until his nose is pressed against Ron's pubic hair. Harry breaths deeply, filling his lungs with the musky scent and allowing it to drag him back into a peaceful mindstate. 

He cannot resist the urge to swallow around Ron's prick, enjoying the feeling of the warm member, the weight of it on his tongue, so comforting, so soothing. 

"That's it," Ron coaxes, keeping a strong hand on Harry's neck to hold him in place. There's a sound of rustling pages and of a pen being uncapped. "Now, let's get this done, shall we?" 

The question remains unanswered. Harry is already drifting off again.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I went there. God help me. lol
> 
> I've never been much of a smut writer, so I'm not sure I know what I'm doing here, but this story's been stuck in my head for ages now, and I grew tired of resisting it. Please be gentle with the noob, here. 
> 
> Xoxo.


End file.
